


Maybe We Can Save Each Other

by virgilistic



Series: Tumblr One-Shots by Me [10]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Character Death, Fighting, Fire, I keep torturing the boy, M/M, Space boys, analogical - Freeform, im bad at tagging pls if smthn needs to be tagged, im sorry, let me know, mercenary au, not any of the main boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 16:24:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16857373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virgilistic/pseuds/virgilistic
Summary: A life spent always on edge, a life spent surrounded by scorn and hate. A life spent keeping his head down, a life spent merely tolerated, not loved. An order for the murder of an invisible prince, a day spent staring at the stars. Two people, falling in love despite every circumstance of their meeting.An ending lies in wait, but what kind?





	Maybe We Can Save Each Other

**Author's Note:**

> : I wanna give a huge thanks to @ihateitwhenyourejustvague on tumblr, they’re great and i love them a lot and they dealt with the un-edited mess this fic was and made it 100 times better.

_In the midst of raging flames, a boy woke suddenly with smoke sharp in his lungs and fire surrounding him on all sides. The fire spat and roared in his ears and he was instantly snapped awake, looking around desperately for somebody, anybody._

_“Momma? Papa?” He called tearfully, clutching his soft wolf plushie to his chest as he took stumbling, unsteady steps through the smoke._

_“Where are you?” He cried, coughing violently as the wind blew the acrid smell of the flames into his mouth._

_Somewhere to his left there was a low rumble and a great crash._

_The boy fell back, stumbling and landing on his butt._

_Where once a wall had obstructed his view of the outside, there was nothing but empty space, and he could see the chaos unfolding in the streets he called home._

_People were running to and fro, some lying unmoving in the streets. Fires were going strong and deadly in the stores and homes on the sides of the roads, and were spreading quickly. From somewhere far off but still so, so close to home, the boy heard a deafening boom and then an explosion, wiping out huge sections of the city in mere seconds._

_He couldn’t help but let out a heavy sob, looking over it, purple eyes teary and red-rimmed._

_The boy jumped as a hand gently touched his shoulder, and as he turned around he met the eyes of his mother._

_Letting out a small cry, he threw himself into her arms, plushie held tightly by the paw in one of his hands._

_“It’s okay, stormcloud.” His mother said softly, hugging him tightly while a hand circled soothingly on his back. “Everything will be just fine.”_

_“Lilian.” The boy heard his father say. “They’re coming into the palace now.”_

_“But, Simon…”_

_“We won’t make it, Lily…”_

_“We have to try!” The queen fired back. She scooped her son into her arms and started to take determined strides across the bare, debri-littered floor, her bare feet scuffing along the ground._

_“Lilian, we-”_

_“I don’t care.” Lilian’s eyes were cold and determined, the fear pushed back. “I’m keeping my son safe if it’s the last thing I do.”_

_The king walked silently beside her for a few moments, contemplating her, the determined set of her shoulders, the soot-smeared face of his son, and then he nodded,_

_“Okay.” He said._

_“Okay?”_

_“Okay. We’ll keep him safe, together. No running.”_

_“No running.”_

_They didn’t say anything for a long while. The boy spent this time silently mulling their words in his head. He didn’t want them to go anywhere! He wanted to.. to spend the afternoon making hot chocolate in the kitchen, or, or go to the village and shop for apples like they did two weeks ago, or have fun in the ballroom as they tried to teach him how to dance, he-_

_He wanted his home to go back to the warm, happy, peaceful place it had been when he’d gone to sleep that night._

_The silence ended when the small group came upon someone new._

_The boy’s mother let out a shocked breath when she saw the slumped form of her sister, lying, exhausted, against a wall._

_“Alana?” She asked, disbelieving._

_The woman looked up when she heard her name, her eyes widening as she saw them._

_“Lily?_

_“Alana. You’re alive!”_

_“Yes, are you three okay?”_

_The boy lifted his head from his mother’s shoulder and turned, giving a shy, trembling smile to his aunt._

_The king and queen both nodded, and Simon started to help Alana off the ground._

_She shook her head quickly as he started, though, her eyes sad._

_“I have a broken leg, Simon. I can’t go anywhere.”_

_“Alana, no!” The queen cried._

_“You have to get moving.” She said seriously. “The rogue guild has already entered the palace. It’s only a matter of time before-”_

_A sharp, cackling laugh broke her off._

_“Too late!” The voice cried, and the boy whimpered softly as he saw the sharp knives the three men carried, blood dripping from the metal._

_“Lily.” The king said, his voice quiet and steady, “Take him and run.”_

_The boy’s eyes flew wide and he reached out small hands to grasp desperately at his father’s shirt, hand, anything._

_“No!” He cried, struggling in his mother’s grip. “ No! Papa!”_

_“Stormcloud, baby, I’m so, so sorry. I have to go.” The boy watched as Papa pulled the purple gemstone necklace from around his neck, before clasping it around his son’s. “Take care, stormcloud. I’ll always be with you.”_

_Virgil felt tears welling up in his eyes, and he barely managed to catch his father’s eyes as he and the queen nodded to Alana._

_“I love you, Virgil.”_

_“Papa!”_

_“Goodbye.”_

-

Virgil shot up out of his light sleep, a knife already in hand.

The night was eerie and quiet, the only sound coming from the nighttime insects and the wind blowing between the tents.

Virgil glared at the people that slept around him, his back slouched and his hoodie drawn tight around him.

At sixteen, he was much younger than the majority of the people around him, and it put him at a distinct disadvantage.

He was used to it, though.

This was how it had always been.

Sitting up, Virgil made an attempt to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

He knew the others in the camp didn’t care for him. He’d have been an idiot not to notice.

The others were always looking, staring, watching him, not bothering to hide the malice in their eyes.

He almost didn’t blame them.

He was a child, compared to them, had only been training properly for six years, and yet he was already better than most of the people in camp.

It wasn’t something he was proud of - it was a skill born from necessity. If he hadn’t learned quickly, he’d have wound up dead in a ditch.

However, nothing stopped them from treating him as less than the scum beneath their feet. They threw insults and slurs at him and he could do nothing in retaliation.

He didn’t dare fight back.

He saw what happened to those who did.

Virgil had developed a very jaded view of the world, at his tender age of sixteen.

He constantly faced scorn for his royal roots, scorn for the necklace he kept tucked under his shirt, scorn for the anxiety he had tried to conceal for so long.

He was always treated roughly, beaten and subjected to ‘training’, especially since his tenth birthday.

Death had always surrounded him. The death of his family. His friends. The deaths of innocent people, people he knew did nothing to deserve it.  

He was forced to endure punishments. Punishments for anything and everything, punishments that he received for the slightest miscreant.

Virgil had abandoned his rose-tinted glasses long ago and replaced them with twenty-foot-high walls.

But even in the hell-scape Virgil lived in, nothing held a candle to the haunting memories of the home that had been taken from him.

Somehow, Virgil could still feel the flames. Somehow, he could still hear the cries of his father as he desperately fought to give his small family a chance to escape. Somehow, he could still see the bloodstained dress of his mo-

Somehow, he remembered, vividly, the day his life changed irrevocably.

-

_The boy sobbed uncontrollably into his mother’s shoulder. The pair had been running non-stop since they had escaped the palace. It seemed there was no escape from the smoky haze that had overcome what used to be their homeland._

_“Come now, honey, we have to be a little quieter, can you do that for me?”_

_The boy leaned back, his face red from crying. He managed to stifle his sobs, but tears still fell silently down his face, accompanied by wet sniffles._

_“Will we ever see Papa again?” He asked._

_The queen seemed hesitant to answer._

_“I don’t know, Virge. I just… I don’t know.”_

_“Where are we going?”_

_“Somewhere safe.”_

_“Safe?”_

_“Safe.”_

_“Will Papa be there?” Virgil laid his head on his mother’s shoulder as she sighed._

_“I… I don’t think so, baby.”_

_“… I want Papa.”_

_“I know, bud. Me too.”_

_They had been running for days. There were very few places for them to go. Faction Five’s one border had been demolished, and the queen was trying to protect her son in any way possible._

_Running through sheer willpower alone, the queen had done her best to distance them from the palace, and began circling towards Faction one._

_“We have friends there.” She assured her son. “No-one in the first faction is a cruel enough to turn somebody in need away.”_

_They never made it._

_Two weeks after the attack on the fifth faction, the boy woke with teary eyes in the wake of a nightmare, the first of many._

_He rolled over to his mother and gently shook her awake._

_The boy watched as she woke with a jerk, pulling Virgil to her chest in a knee-jerk reaction._

_“Hey, stormy, what’s wrong?” She asked gently once she woke, her eyes focused on her son’s._

_“Nightmare.” he said simply._

_The queen had softened, beginning to run a gentle hand through the boy’s hair when a glinting light at the top of the hill caught her attention._

_Flames - torches._

_And with the catch in his mother’s breath, Virgil’s life was turned on its heel for the second time._

_The queen swept him into her arms and began to run._

_But she was a small, slight woman, unused to running for any distance, and Virgil was five years old, far too heavy for his mother to run with._

_It ended quickly. They  were tackled to the ground, and the queen screamed out for Virgil to run even as a sword opened a gaping wound across her chest, even as red took over the pale pink of her tattered, dirty dress._

_Virgil didn’t want to leave her. He didn’t, he couldn’t._

_But he didn’t have a choice in the matter, because before he could even push himself from the ground, he was swept roughly over the shoulder of one of the rogues._

_“Virgil!” Lilian cried._

_“Leave the woman.”_

_“But, boss-”_

_“She’ll be dead by nightfall. Leave her.”_

_“Yes, boss.”_

_“Grab anything of value. We can make good money on the market.”_

_“What are you planning to do with the child?” Someone asked, and the boy tensed, tears falling sloppily down his face._

_“Teach him. He’ll be raised with the gang. If he turns out not to be useful we can kill him without any losses.”_

_Virgil couldn’t help the trembling that overcame his body._

_Kill him?_

_He didn’t know what to do, or to think. All he knew was that he was scared, and he was alone._

_Terribly, frighteningly alone._

-

Virgil quietly stood up, wincing as the various cuts and bruises littered over his body protested the movement.

Soon, the cuts would heal, adding to the scars that covered his body, a personal map of the abuse he suffered at the hands of the rogues.

He remembered, dully, the horror he endured for the first five years he spent after he was taken.

The years he spent as one of the rogue’s ‘slaves’.

The slaves the rogues kept were little more than hostages.

They did nothing for the rogues.

They were kept in locked caravans, fitted with metal bars instead of canvas and metal floors instead of wood.

They wore the same clothes all the time and they weren’t allowed to talk. They obeyed orders, and if they failed to do so, they were given a lesson much more painful than a mere reprimand.

The slaves were hardly fed. They got whatever scraps the main rogues left behind, which, more often than not, was nothing at all.

The water they received was usually dirty, and those with weaker immune systems succumbed to sickness.

Virgil had seen several of his friends die. Some were taken by sickness, others from dehydration.

Some were killed off by the rogues.

The slaves were punching bags, sometimes. People who the rogues didn’t have to worry about retaliation from, people who were too weak to fight back, people who were easy to take out anger on.

Virgil hated it.

He hated the rogues.

And he hated himself for not being able to save the people he called friends, he people he called family.

-

_The boy whimpered softly as he was thrown, none too gently, into the overcrowded cages where the rogues kept their slaves._

_“Listen, boy,” one of the men said, his voice low and sharp, “You stay here, and you don’t say a word. Don’t make a sound, don’t even move unless we tell you to, got it?”_

_Virgil whimpered, collapsed on the cold, dirty metal floor he’d been flung onto._

_“I said not to make a sound, brat!” The man yelled, cursing. He pulled Virgil up by the shirt as he ranted, and Virgil tried to stifle his cries, resisting the urge to apologize._

_He bit his tongue as he was shoved carelessly back onto the ground, his head slamming hard against the floor._

_The door to the cage was slammed harshly, and Virgil flinched away from the noise, curling into a trembling ball on the floor of the caravan._

_He choked out a quiet cry as a gentle hand touched his shoulder._

_“Shh, honey.” A gentle, elderly voice whispered, a hand beginning to rub slow circles on his back. “Shh, calm down now, come on…”_

_Virgil blinked the wetness out of his eyes, slowly raising his head to catch sight of the old man that knelt beside him._

_“What’s your name, little one?” The man asked, his voice rough as sandpaper, but at the same time gentler than Virgil could bare._

_“Virgil.” He said quietly, his voice still wavering from his tears._

_“That’s a lovely name.” The man said, smiling mournfully at the boy. “My name is Toby.”_

_“To… Toby?”_

_“That’s right. Toby. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Virgil.” Toby was smiling softly, mirth glimmering in his eyes._

_“It’s nice to meet you.” He replied absent-mindedly, focusing instead on the kind expression of Toby’s face. “Where… where are we?”_

_Toby sighed, the wrinkles on his face deepening as his eyes filled with sorrow._

_“A place one as young as you should never have to be, Virgil.”_

_Despite his confusion, Virgil merely tilted his head to the side._

_“These are the rogues.” Someone said. “This is their camp.”_

_Virgil looked over to see a girl, three or four years older than him. She was surrounded by people._

_People like Toby._

_“This is not a nice place, Virgil. I’m sorry.” She said._

_He hadn’t known what she meant at the time._

_Several months later, he did._

_The slaves went days without food, were given dirty water, were not allowed to roam or move at all, hardly._

_In months, Virgil’s skin had lost it’s healthy glow, and heavy bags had begun developing under his young eyes._

_Bruises blossomed across his skin and mud and sticks were tangled in his hair._

_And that was how he lived for the next five years._

-

Virgil repressed a cry as the blade of one of his so-called ‘mentors’ caught his shoulder.

He grit his teeth against the pain and tried to ignore the steadily growing blood stain on his clothes.

Striking out with the blade in his left hand, Virgil tried to ignore the sick feeling of nausea that welled up in him as the butt of his knife struck hard into the temple of one of his opponents.

His knife clattered to the floor and Virgil quickly snatched it from the ground.

Hearing the heavy thud of his second opponent’s feet against the hard-packed dirt, he spun, kicking his heel out to knock the groaning first opponent unconscious and grabbing the attacker’s knife-hand with one of his own, holding his own knife to the man’s neck. Virgil saw the annoyed twitch of the rogue’s eye right as they brought their other fist hard into his stomach.

Virgil coughed, gripping his knife hard as he resisted the urge to curl in on himself, struggling to pull in air.

He glared up at the rogue, who was laughing boisterously even as he walked over to his buddy.

Virgil rolled his eyes, sticking his hands, knife still held tight in his grip, into his hoodie pocket.

He was eighteen now, and easily the best fighter in the camp.

The deaths of the people he cared for around him, and the threat of death hanging constantly over his head gave him no choice.

He was tired of being pushed around, of being hurt, of being mocked.

So he honed the only craft offered to him.

The one of murder.

Virgil’s aim with a gun was impeccable. Despite his rather thin structure he was strong, and quick as a whip.

He was dangerous.

But he was only doing what he had to do to survive.

It just turned out that in the life Virgil found himself forced into, his survival meant the death of someone else.

Virgil often contemplated the thought of giving up.

He couldn’t leave. They’d find him, kill him for ‘betraying’ them.

The only way to escape would be his own death.

But…

If he died, even more people would be killed.

Even so, the lives of those he had no choice but to kill weighed on him, a constant steady nail being hammered again and again into his mind.

Virgil saved them whenever he could. Those who were rightfully guilty of a crime, he delivered to the police.

The person was detained peacefully, and Virgil paid the boss with his own money to make up for the money lost.

Virgil was punished.

He didn’t expect anything less; he was always punished.

He didn’t care. He still did it. Nobody deserved to die.

The others in camp hated it, hated him.

But he was stronger than them.

They’d scoff behind his back, they’d gang up on him and beat him down until he could hardly walk, but they wouldn’t kill him.

They needed him.

-

_Virgil flinched as the gruff voice of the boss cut through the silence of the night._

_“Anxiety!”_

_Virgil walked to the tent, his shaking hands concealed in his hoodie pocket and his bangs swept messily over his eyes._

_The boss stood next to a thin, slouching, weasel-faced man._

_“Anxiety. You have a case.” The boss said bluntly. Virgil, unperturbed by the mocking nickname after so long, snapped his head up, holding desperately to some shred of hope that the boss was kidding._

_He had to be._

_Virgil?_

_Kill someone?_

_As it turned out, the boss had seen his nervous glance, and was deathly serious, and Virgil was taught his lesson by a swift backhand that sent his body hard into the dirt._

_“Yes, sir.” He said quietly as he stood back up, avoiding eye contact._

_“Good. This is your commissioner. His name is Norton Mercer. You’re being hired to kill his twin brother, Nathan Mercer. Fraternal twins, mind you.”_

_Virgil fought to steady his shaky hand as the boss held out a picture._

_It was of a average-height man, heavy set with short blonde hair and bright green eyes. Above the picture, “Nathan Mercer” was emblazoned in bold ink. Below the picture was a short description of him and an address._

_“As this is your first case, I’ll be sending Timothy with you. He won’t do much, I assure you. He’s merely there to ensure you do your job.”_

_Virgil mentally scoffed. His ‘job’._

_Murder was no job._

_Virgil had no choice in the matter, however._

_At the age of seventeen, Virgil killed for the first time._

-

Virgil sighed heavily, spinning around and glaring at one of the men as he sidestepped the knife that had been thrown in his direction.

“Haven’t you had enough, Gregory?” Virgil drawled, tilting his head cockily.

Gregory, cheeks flushed red in anger, stormed over and snatched his knife angrily from the ground.

“I think you need to be taught a lesson in humility.” Gregory snarled.

Virgil just sneered at him, opening his mouth to reply when he heard the angry cry of his rogue-given nickname from the Boss’s tent.

“Ah, well, duty calls, Greg.” He snarked. “Toodle-oo!”

Virgil spun around Gregory’s impulsive strike out and winked at him as he spun and continued on his way.

He didn’t dare put his guard down; It would be just like ol’ Greg to throw a knife at his back.

He dropped the pretense as he entered the Boss’s tent, however. He wasn’t exactly looking to die, so it would be best to avoid accidentally throwing out a sarcastic comment in his presence.

“Anxiety.” The boss started haughtily, looking down his nose at Virgil.

Virgil nodded shortly, repressing a scowl. “We have a job for you. One you can’t slither your way out of.”

Virgil nodded again, clenching his hands inside his hoodie pocket.

He didn’t want to add a new name to his repertoire.

But it didn’t seem like he’d have a choice this time.

“You’re being commissioned by the Second Faction king himself. King, you hear?”

Virgil furrowed his brow, waiting for the boss to explain.

“He’s paying us a pretty penny, so I trust you won’t be getting up to any of your typical schemes, hmm?”

“Yes, sir.” Virgil bit out.

“Good boy. You’re to kill the third prince of the Second faction, Logan Dumorti. We can’t be having you making a mess of this, so you will be severely monitored tonight.”

The boss leaned forward and caught Virgil’s eye, menacing and dark. “Listen here, Virgil. Do not screw this up, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now get a move on.”

“Yes, sir.”

Virgil waited for the boss to wave him off, after giving him the typical photo file, and then moved quickly out of the tent.

Frankly, Virgil wasn’t sure what he was going to do.

The third prince had done nothing wrong. If he had, the entire faction would know before Virgil could blink. He was innocent.

But Virgil knew what would happen were he to try to save the prince.

Forget skills, they’d kill him in a heartbeat for squandering their reputation, for giving the King a reason to wage war with them.

He only had one option.

To survive, he’d have to kill the prince.

Sparing not a glance for Gregory and his friends, Virgil immediately left for the castle.

He spent a couple of minutes in his tent, inserting contacts to cover his purple eyes and applying makeup to disguise his face shape. He pulled on a coat, the pockets hand-sewn on the inside to hold his knives and a gun.

He wouldn’t need the gun tonight. It would draw too much attention.

He packed it anyways.

Virgil was loathe to leave his possessions alone at the camp where anyone could tamper with them.

Putting the last small knife in his boot, Virgil left.

He arrived at the castle in no time.

Still miffed about the monitoring, he stalked his way through the dark, empty palace, dark cloak billowing silently behind him.

Something about it sent an ache deep in his heart. Maybe it was the stone, so similar to the stone of his old home, or the winding staircase, more familiar to Virgil than his own hand.

He didn’t stop to ponder on it.

But he might’ve run his hand softly along the railing as he wound his way up.

Virgil found the prince on the roof.

Virgil crept quietly around the edges, gradually growing closer.

Logan Dumorti was quiet.

The third, illegitimate child of the Second King. Logan Dumorti was the child of an affair between the king and a rogue thief the King imprisoned in the dungeons.

As soon as she had her child, the thief vanished, leaving the king with a baby and nothing else, no doubt the reason for his current mission. Logan had wavy brown hair and chilling blue eyes, nothing like the stick-straight blonde hair and green eyes of his family.

All of which Virgil read from the limited picture-file the boss gave him.

When Virgil found him, the prince was staring silently up at the stars.

Virgil couldn’t help but wonder what he saw. Had the circumstances been different, had he not been a mercenary, had he not been monitored, Virgil might have asked but-

Unfortunately, those were not the circumstances at hand.

He was a mercenary, forced out by his boss, commissioned by Logan’s own father to kill him.

So Virgil pushed the thoughts out of his mind.

He drew his dagger from the outermost pocket of his cloak, and began to take slow, silent, calculated steps towards the prince.

One motion. One quick cut, no pain. That’s all.

But he hesitated.

Maybe it was the nostalgia, the wistful feelings for a life long past. Maybe he had been careless, entranced by the prince and the sky. Maybe his reluctance to kill had finally shown through.

He hesitated.

And that small moment of hesitation was all the prince needed to defend himself.

As Virgil began his motion to quickly draw the knife over Logan’s neck, the prince’s hand snapped up, blocking the knife and deflecting it away from him.

The knife went skidding across the roof, and Virgil cursed as he jumped away from Logan.

He couldn’t help but admire the calm demeanor the prince displayed as he turned around, undoing his tie and using it to wrap the deep wound in his hand.

“And who, may I ask, are you?”

Virgil, eyes covered with brown contacts and face disguised with makeup, leaned back casually and tilted his head back so that the hood of his cloak tipped back.

“Call me Anxiety.” He said sardonically, wind whipping through his hair and a smirk familiar on his face.

Virgil watched as Logan blinked, obviously confused.

Slightly irritated, but mostly intrigued, Virgil slipped back into the stairwell, knife in hand.

When Logan went to follow, Virgil made sure he was nowhere to be found.

Virgil collected himself, scowling as he saw the man assigned to monitor him running ahead.

Virgil rolled his eyes.

He had to report back anyways.

He quickly made his way back to camp.

Just because the boss would know didn’t mean Virgil wanted to give him time to get worked up.

Ten minutes later, Virgil stood outside of the Boss’s tent, waiting to be called in.

“Anxiety.” The boss said, barely concealed anger visible in the barely restrained voice.

Virgil made his way into the tent, nodding as he got in.

“Karter tells me you bludged it.”

Virgil nodded his head. ‘Bludged it’ seemed a little extreme, but he knew better than to argue.

“So?” The boss demanded. “What happened.”

Virgil hesitated, and the boss stood angrily, getting up and walking several paces forward into Virgil’s space.

“Speak up, boy!” he yelled, his face beet red.

“I merely underestimated him, sir.” Virgil said, proud that he managed to keep the shake out of his voice.

“You ‘underestimated’ him?”

“Yes, sir. It won’t happen again, I assure you.”

Virgil saw the boss’s eyebrow twitch and mentally berated himself. He tensed slightly, and, just as he’d predicted, the boss’s hands came flying directly at him, throwing him to the ground.

Virgil held his breath.

 _Don’t fight back, Don’t fight back,_  he reminded himself as pain exploded from his ribs, as the boss kicked him. Fighting only ever makes it worse.

When Virgil managed to fight his way through the white pain-filled haze that covered his vision, the boss was back to sitting down, his hands clenched together as he glared at Virgil.

“I don’t have any men to waste on you.” The boss growled, his voice quiet and deadly. “If you mess this up, it’s your funeral.”

Breathing out shakily, Virgil nodded.

As if they’d give him a funeral.

He struggled his way to his feet and left camp again after grabbing his hoodie. Injured as he was, the camp was ten times more dangerous than it would be normally.

So he left.

Virgil spent the night wandering the streets of Faction Two. He knew them better than he knew the camp, sometimes.

When daylight came, Virgil made his way to the castle.

Take two.

Daylight was much trickier to navigate. People of all kinds milled around. There was a contractor working with a palace official to decide where to place a selection of paintings and statues and various other workers, janitors, and businessmen also walking to and fro across the grounds.

As much as it made it harder, it also made it so, so much easier.

Virgil walked into the crowd. Anyone who might’ve questioned him were too caught up in their own task, their own life.

They couldn’t spare a second to worry about Virgil, and he was glad.

It made his job easier.

But as much as Virgil looked, Logan Dumorti was nowhere to be found.

Suspicious, Virgil left the palace.

What business would a prince have leaving the palace? Did he run away? Was he out on orders from the king?

Virgil didn’t have any information.

He searched.

Virgil roamed the streets, peeking inside of any building he passed. The prince couldn’t have gone far from the palace, right?

Wrong.

Virgil had checked every building in the Second Faction’s main city, and Logan was nowhere to be found.

In fact, Virgil didn’t have a clue where he was until he started looking in the small villages that bordered the main city.

When Virgil finally spotted Logan, it was at a library in one of those small villages.

The library was pleasantly warm. It was painted in cool, easy blues and deep, calming silvers. As Virgil walked further in, the scent of old, old books wafted through the air.

And there, in the middle of the floor, surrounded by young, poor children of every age, sat Logan Dumorti, his voice soft and lilting as he read the book in his lap to the rapt children.

Virgil let out a heavy breath, dread sinking deep in his chest.

Virgil realized, solemnly, that there was simply no way he could kill this man.

With fear jumping in his chest, Virgil quietly left the library.

He jogged back the border, but when he got to the camp, his nerves were still jumping under his skin.

“I’d like to go undercover.” Virgil says, his voice surprisingly steady despite the frantic thrumming of his pulse.

“You what?” The boss asked, incredulous.

“I’d like to go undercover. Need to, really.”

“Explain.”

Virgil winced at the sharp tone of voice, knowing he had to tread lightly.

“The palace is too closely monitored for me to get in and out a second time without being caught on camera and exposing myself and the guild. If I get caught, it would affect the entire camp. I need to go undercover to execute the prince quietly. No hubbub.”

Virgil watched anxiously as the boss mulled it over.

“Fine.” He said finally, reluctance thick in his tone.

Virgil nodded. “Thank you.”

Virgil bowed slightly, taking fast steps out of the tent.

He walked to his own cot, and gathered his meager things. He stuffed his makeup and colored contact case, along with his weapons and the cloak, into a small satchel he’d carry with him.

He wandered around as a nomad of sorts for a while - he ate what he could and tried to stay hydrated, but he was used to not eating.

Virgil quickly found a job in the library. He learned that Logan came to the library every weekday to read to the children.

Logan was standoffish at first.

In fact, Virgil didn’t speak a word to him until two weeks after the discussion with the boss.

-

_“Logan, we need help!” One of the children yelled as they raced into the library._

_Virgil lifted his head from the books he was organizing, his eyes darting to the prince and the children he, somehow, had become quite fond of._

_“May? What’s happened?” Logan asked._

_The child, May, shook her head fast, tears coming fast and hard down her face, her hiccuping cries too violent for her to force any words out._

_Logan looked absolutely lost, his book abandoned on the floor as he knelt beside the small, distraught girl._

_Setting the books on top of the shelf, Virgil put himself into Logan’s sight._

_“Can I help?” He mouthed, motioning between himself and the little girl._

_Logan shrugged helplessly, cradling the girl gently in his arms._

_Virgil walked up carefully, kneeling beside the girl._

_“Hi,” He started, his voice low and gentle. “Your name is May, right?”_

_The girl leaned back from Logan, her body shaking gently with the force of her cries. She nodded shakily at Virgil, and he smiled gently at her, hoping to offer some kind of comfort._

_“It’s nice to meet you, May. My name is Virgil. I’m sure those hiccups don’t feel very nice, huh?” He asked, tilting his head._

_May shook her head, and another hiccup seemed to solidify his statement._

_“Okay, then I’m going to try to help you, okay? We can’t help you until you can talk, so I need you to follow my directions as best you can, okay?”_

_May nodded and Virgil extended a hand to her. She took it and Virgil again tried to offer her a comforting smile._

_He glanced to Logan as he spoke the next words. “I want you to try your best to breathe along with Logan when i start counting, okay?”_

_The girl nodded._

_Virgil smiled, and began to count in calm, even, methodical numbers, up to five and back down again._

_Eventually, May’s cries had subsides and she turned from Logan’s embrace to open her arms for Virgil._

_Shocked and unsure, Virgil hesitated, but he leaned forwards anyways._

_“Thank you, Mr. Virgil.” May said, and Virgil shook his head._

_“No mister, just Virgil, and…” He leaned back, giving May a small wink, as if he were telling her a secret. “My friends call me Virge.”_

_The girl giggled at that and he smiled at her before turning to Logan and tilting his head._

_Logan nodded, and turned to the girl. “May, what was it you needed?”_

_May tensed, and Virgil watched her carefully as she began to wring her hands._

_“Bailey got hurt. She cut herself on her fence and her parents don’t have the stuff to disinfect it.”_

_“How bad was it?”_

_May shook her head_

_“It wasn’t bad. But it broke the skin, and she was bleeding, and the fence was dirty, and if we don’t disinfect it she might get sick, and if she gets sick-”_

_“Woah, slow down there.” Virgil said. “We’ve got some stuff in the back, I’ll give it to Logan and you can bring him there, yeah?”_

_He looked between Logan and May, who both nodded._

_“Yeah.”_

_With their agreement, Virgil stood, his brow furrowing as he made his way into the lowest cabinet and pulled out a first-aid kit._

_Making his way back out to where Logan and May still stood, Virgil shifted his eyes sheepishly. “I figured… we don’t know how kind of injury it is…”_

_“It was good judgement.” Logan assured him, and Virgil nodded, relieved, holding out the kit._

_“Well, here you are, then.” He said awkwardly._

_“Yes.” Logan paused, observing Virgil silently._

_“Thank you, Virgil.” Logan said finally, his tone serious._

_Virgil tried to wave it off. “It’s fine, kind of my job, in a way…” He grumbled, trying desperately to pull on his dark persona._

_Logan just smiled, taking May’s hand and letting her lead him out of the library._

_Virgil bent down and picked Logan’s book up from where it fell, placing it neatly on the table._

_The encounter was strange, for sure. But, for his first interaction with Logan…_

_It was fascinating._

_-_

After that first encounter, things went much smoother.

Logan began greeting him as he walked in the door, and Virgil, while shocked, replied in kind.

He wasn’t quite sure when they had become friends, but in the two weeks Virgil had been working at the library, things had just… clicked into place.

Every day, Virgil felt as though he discovered something new about Logan.

Logan was an absolute space geek, and Virgil loved it. When Virgil was little, he was obsessed with the stars. He’d drag his mother out onto the roof and just laugh with her, pointing out strange shapes.

Far away, Logan was doing the same thing, alone.

When Logan discovered Virgil’s old obsession with the sky, he had immediately put his book down.

_“Have you ever learned the constellations?” He asked._

_Virgil frowned. “I…. no. I never had the chance.”_

_“Never had the chance?”_

_Virgil tensed, and let out an awkward laugh. “Ha, yeah, I…”_

_“You don’t have to tell me if you do not wish to, Virgil.” Logan assured him, and when Virgil looked up at him startled, Logan had a small smirk on his face. “You were pulling at your hoodie strings.” He said._

_Virgil swallowed, attempting a light smile. “That easy to tell, huh?”_

_“No.” Logan replied, scanning through the shelves. “But I’ve grown to know you over this month.”_

_Virgil almost choked, his heart racing as he tried to decipher Logan’s words._

_“Virgil? Are you okay?” Logan called._

_Virgil waved a hand, not trusting his voice to speak._

_Logan was silent for a few seconds._

_“Would… would you like me to teach you the constellations?” Logan asked hesitantly._

_Virgil’s head shot up. “Really?” he asked._

_Logan nodded, becoming marginally more confident. “Yes. The stars out in this village are extraordinary. I’m certain I could find several to teach you.”_

_“You… you’re sure?”_

_“Very.”_

_“Okay, when?”_

_“Now?”_

_Virgil peeked out of the windows, taking in the darkness that was beginning to bathe the streets. “O….. okay.” He agreed slowly. “Sure. Let’s go.”_

_Logan smiled, and Virgil followed him eagerly out of the library, locking up behind them._

_They walked in silence. Normally, Virgil would have felt the urge to fill the silence, to replace the awkwardness with any noise, but with Logan…_

_There was nothing like that._

_With Logan, the silence was comfortable._

_Maybe because they weren’t walking alone. When Logan saw something, he’d gently elbow Virgil and nod his head towards it, and Virgil would grin at him as he did the same._

_At one point, Virgil elbowed Logan and pointed towards the sky._

_“Shooting star.” Logan commented._

_Virgil hummed. “Make a wish.” He parroted._

_Virgil saw Logan glance at him out of the corner of his eye._

_“No need.”_

-

As Virgil began talking more to the prince, he found things just… fit.

He felt as though, the more time that passed, the more Virgil looked forward to seeing Logan at the library. Sometimes, they just sat in the same space, involved in their own things, but it felt all the better because they were together.

Sighing, Virgil pulled out the file from under the desk and began to mark off books.

“Hey, Logan.” Virgil said as the prince walked through the door, giving him the typical two-fingered salute.

“Greetings, Virgil.” Logan returned, settling into one of the chairs the library provided for patrons. Virgil hummed as he continued filing. Logan flipped his book open to his page, and Virgil smiled as he listened to the pages flip. The only noises in the room were Virgil’s pen scratching on the paper and Logan’s reading.

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“Would you like some tea?”

Logan looked up from his book and smiled slightly at Virgil, before nodding. “That would be wonderful, Virgil.”

Giving him a two-fingered salute, Virgil made his way around the counter and into the back room.

The past month had been… well, honestly, the happiest month Virgil had had since the fire.

Logan was… absolutely astounding. He was so, so smart, and he was kind, and he was gentle and patient, and every day Virgil saw him - reading, talking with the kids, reciting a new fact he learned - some bright, full feeling in his chest swelled.

And with a sickening lurch, the teacup fell out of Virgil’s hand, shattering on the ground as Virgil realized that somehow, he’d fallen in love with the prince, had fallen in love with the blue-eyed wonder he was due to kill in three weeks time.

In the other room, Logan’s head shot up as he heard the shatter of glass.

Book discarded messily on the table, Logan shot to his feet, because  _Virgil, Virgil, Virgil, what happened to Virgil, what’s wrong?!_

Logan froze as he got to the doorway of the kitchen.

Virgil was stood in the middle of the room, trembling silently with a teacup shattered at his feet and the tea puddling in the floor, soaking the carpet where it reached it.

But what scared Logan almost was the vacant, lost look in his eyes, tears trailing silently down his face as he slowly looked up at Logan.

Before he could do so much as take a step towards him, Virgil’s knees buckled from underneath him, the glass cutting into his hands as his breath started stuttering, coming too fast and too short and he _couldn’t breathe._

Logan couldn’t think of anything. He was  _lost._

He was terrified.

Taking a deep breath, Logan attempted to push the emotions to the back of his mind. He took a few hesitant steps forward, kneeling next to Virgil and clearing away the glass surrounding him.

He set a gentle hand on Virgil’s back, and grabbed Virgil’s uninjured hand.

Instantly, Virgil begins to squeeze Logan’s hand tightly, looking for something,  _anything_  to ground him.

Virgil felt, distantly, the tapping on his back, and gradually he began to hear the smooth, even timbre of Logan’s voice, low and soothing. The soft, gentle, lilting sort of voice Logan used when he read aloud.

Virgil clung desperately to it, and tried to sync his stuttering breaths to the pattern being tapped on his back.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the trembling stopped, and his breaths evened out, but as hard as he tried, Virgil couldn’t stop the tears that trailed down his cheeks. He eventually gathered the courage to look up and meet Logan’s eyes.

“What happened?” Logan asked, gently helping Virgil to stand, leading him back to the sink to clean his wounds.

Virgil just duck his head.

They stood in silent for a few moments, as Logan cleaned the cuts on his hands and dressed them.

“I’ve fallen in love with you.” He said finally, voice raspy and broken from crying.

Logan didn’t understand it much, very rarely was he fluent in the things his emotions were telling him, but…

But somehow, he knew that he loved that man, so he shut off the water and packed the first aid kit away, turning fully to face Virgil and gently taking his uninjured hand once again.

“Oh, Virgil,” He started, voice cracking as he struggled to voice his feelings, “I could… say the same. So quickly you’ve become- uh, well, you’ve become so, so very important to me. Such a short time, and you’ve become… everything to me.”

Virgil froze, before hiccuping a laugh and shaking his head.

“Do… do you want to know why I was crying, Logan?” He asked softly.

Logan shook his head, stroking his thumb over the back of Virgil’s hand. “Only if telling me would ease your worries.”

Virgil let the silence stretch on for a few seconds.

“I’m supposed to kill you.”

The words are a whisper in a room filled with the smell of tea and old books.

Logan merely let out a quiet hum.

“I know.” He mumbled.

“You… what?”

Logan gave Virgil a teasing smirk. “Well, who else can speak with such pure sarcasm?”

“You’re kidding.”

“Yes, I am. I… may have heard you on the phone with your boss a few weeks ago.”

Virgil stood, shocked, for a few seconds, staring silently into the abyss, before he chuckled, breaking into almost full-out laughter.

“You, you  _knew_  I was the one sent to kill you, and you- and you did nothing?”

Logan shrugged, looking away. “It was fascinating, or, more accurately… you. You were fascinating.”

Virgil’s laughter eventually died down, and he went quiet, looking fondly at Logan.

“You…” He paused, stumbling through his words. “You… like… you too?”

Logan nodded, smiling softly back at him. “I do, more than I ever believed possible.”

“Then…”

“Virgil, would you do me the honor of letting me kiss you?”

“Only if you do the same.”

They smirk at each other, and lean in.

Virgil can feel Logan’s small smile against his lips, and he can’t help but smile back.

The kiss was somehow nothing he could have ever imagined, and yet perfect.

When they leaned back from each other, he and Logan walked into the library, sitting closely on the couch provided.

“I’m going to to go tell them that I won’t kill anymore. It… it won’t go well. If i don’t come back…” He hesitated, glancing over at Logan. “If i don’t come back, make sure you leave. Find somewhere safe. Go to Faction One - The prince there will welcome you with open arms, that’s just the kind of guy he is. Just… tell him that you’re a friend of Amethyst. He’ll understand.”

Virgil winced as he looked over at Logan. He looked absolutely heartbroken.

“I, I’m not letting you go alone.”

Virgil shook his head sadly. “If you come with me, they’ll kill both of us on sight.”

“But-”

“Logan, I won’t put you in danger. I’m already responsible for the loss of so many lives… I won’t be responsible for yours.”

“Virgil…”

“I’ll attempt to reason with them.” Virgil tried. “Just… please stay here?”

Logan sighed, but nodded. “Fine. I’ll stay here. But… but you have to promise me you won’t give up, okay Virgil? I… I need you.”

Virgil smiled at him as he stood up from the couch and headed for the door.

“Logan, I promise I’ll return to you, one way or another.”

“G-good…. I’ll see you soon, Virgil.”

“See you soon, Logan.”

Virgil left.

He traced the path to the camp, the streets worn and familiar, his heart beating fast in his chest and his hands worrying the fabric of the cloak he’d worn.

As he walked, possibilities flew through his mind.

What if he got there and found that someone was already on their way to kill Logan?

What they already knew and he was ambushed and killed on the spot?

What if they sent somebody to kill Logan before he had a chance to leave?

The possibilities were endless, and there was little else to take up his thoughts.

When he reached camp, it seemed eerily normal. Fires roared in between the lines, the sound of chatter and gruff shouting came from inside the rows of tents, weapons were laying outside on the ground and blood littered the dirt.

Taking care to be as silent as possible, Virgil approached the caravans.

If he was going to die anyways, it wouldn’t hurt to help somebody else first.

What were they going to do, kill him a second time?

At least him he died, the innocent people the rogues imprisoned would have a chance to be free.

After picking the locks, Virgil offered the slaves an apologetic smile, putting a finger to his lips and motioning them out of the camp before heading to the giant tent into middle of the barren, smoke-covered clearing.

He announced his presence with the clearing of his throat.

The boss’s gruff, annoyed voice called him in and Virgil felt his heart skip a beat.

He took a deep, calming breath, hoping to assuage some of the fear.

It didn’t really work.

“Well, Anxiety?” The boss asked haughtily. “Have you killed the prince yet?”

“No, sir.” Virgil replied, thankful that his voice came out steady despite his fear.

“And why, exactly?”

Virgil took a deep breath.

“I have no reason to kill the third prince of Faction Two.”

“‘No reason’? Did you say, ‘no _reason,_ ’ Anxiety?” The boss asked sharply.

“Yes. He is innocent, he has done nothing wrong. His father is the guilty one in this case.”

The energy in the room dropped, and Virgil repressed a shiver.

He knew this would happen.

He expected it.

He wished he had gotten one last kiss, though.

The room erupted into chaos. The boss had most of his closest friends in the tent, and all at once they began shouting at him.

“Loyalty to customers”, they said.

“Haven’t you ever heard of a reputation?” They asked indignantly.

“We were paid good money for this job!” others spouted.

“Just do what you’re told!” Someone yelled.

Virgil snapped his head over and stared hard at the man who had said it.

“I  _will not_  harm him.” He said firmly. “I love him.”

Virgil winced as the atmosphere dropped from mocking to out-right fury.

There was no escape now.

“Tell ya what, champ.” The boss said, his deadly quiet voice cutting across the cacophony. His voice had a manic lilt to it, and Virgil had to look away from the bloodlust in his eyes. “If you can make it to the Faction Two border before the lads kill ya’, you and lover boy can go free. My oath.”

Virgil frowned.

He knew this was the best offer he was going to get.

Truthfully, it was the only offer he was going to get.

The boss’s word meant nothing.

But he always stood by an oath.

“Okay.” He said.

He was, frankly, outnumbered. He was against seven or eight men, all bigger and brawnier than him and more experienced, with more muscle mass, with more weapons than a mere dagger.

The attack came immediately.

Virgil made a sharp swipe at the first two men who came at him, but wasn’t prepared for the man behind him who threw him roughly onto the ground.

Before he could struggle to his feet there were sharp pains in his ribs, people kicking out ruthlessly with no regard.

Eventually someone pulled him up by his hair, and Virgil took the opportunity to spin around and slash outwards with his knife - a deliberate, calculated that took out several of his attacks in one move, buying him a precious few seconds to get to his feet and escape out of the enclosed space of the tent and onto the open ground.

 _Just have to get to the border,_ he reminded himself. Just to the border.

As soon as he was clear, Virgil started sprinting. Virgil was smaller and lighter than the other men, but he was also shorter and not as well fed. His muscles ached from the beating he’d gotten and his shoulder was bleeding heavily from a well-aimed swipe someone had gotten in.

He had gotten a little over halfway there when he heard the shouts from behind him.

He refused to look behind him, knowing what he’d see. The entire guild, chasing after him, armed to the teeth.

Sure enough, a shot went off, and Virgil barely managed to throw himself forward as bullets planted themselves in the dirt at his heels.

Desperately, Virgil forced himself to move faster, _please._

Around ten feet from the border, he ran out of luck.

The border was in sight, it was  _so close._

A bullet embedded himself into his side with a searing, burning pain that sent him tumbling into the dirt.

A pained cry ripped itself from his throat.

He pushed himself desperately to his feet.

He was so close, just… just a few more steps, just…

One step over the border, a knife stabbed into Virgil’s thigh.

Virgil’s legs gave out and he collapsed, rolling across the border.

Safe.

“I’d like my knife back, buddy.” One of the men mocked.

Virgil’s hand shook as he yanked the knife from the back of his thigh.

He didn’t make a sound.

He refused to let them win.

Virgil tried to scoot further over the border, his vision fading in and out as he watched the rogues sneer at him as they walked away.

Just as he thought he was safe, his eyes flew open and a scream wrenched from his throat, as someone stomped harshly on the injury in his thigh.

Virgil glared hatefully at the man, his breath ragged and shallow, and he cursed as the man laughed.

As soon as he and the rest of the rogues were out of sight, he dragged himself to his feet, whimpering softly as he put weight on the injured thigh.

Shoving his knife into his jeans pocket, Virgil hobbled forward, leaning on the wall for support.

Logan.

He had to get to Logan.

The walk seemed longer, so, so much longer.

Pain radiated through his body with every step, and the hand on his shoulder was doing very little to staunch the flow of the blood.

By the time he got to the library, Virgil’s head was foggy and he had fallen several times.

Scrapes on his knees, elbows, and face added to the repertoire of other injuries.

He could’ve sworn by now that there was more of his blood soaked into his clothes than actually inside of him.

“Lo… Logan!” He called weakly. He could feel his legs shaking, his grip on the wall slackening.

“Lo..”

The library door opened with a bang and Virgil could barely offer Logan a small smile before his vision went dark.

Logan’s eyes went wide as he took in Virgil’s condition.

“…Virgil?” He asked.

Virgil didn’t move.

Logan swallowed hard, scooping Virgil’s body into his arms and running to the couch.

Virgil had obviously lost a lot of blood, and was severely injured, and there was no way Logan could take him to a hospital.

Panicking, he laid Virgil down on the couch and ran to get the meager first aid kit.

He did the best he could to stop the bleeding, extracting the bullet and cleaning all the scrapes and injuries.

When all the injuries were dressed, He pulled Virgil, still unconscious, onto his back, and set out for Faction One.

Fortunately, the library was only two miles away from the border, but to walk those two miles with Virgil weak and unconscious on his back, not to mention that the Faction One palace was deep within the main city…

It would take almost an entire day, even if he walked nonstop.

Still, he pushed through.

He had to get help for Virgil, he just had to, if he didn’t…

Well, he’d prefer not to dwell on that series of events.

Logan tried several times in vain to get Virgil to drink water at the least, but he was truly out of it and even when he was awake, he was not lucid enough to do much of anything.

At the end of the second day, Logan reached the palace. He was exhausted, and hungry, and his hair was a disheveled mess from the walk, but he made it.

Two guards were stationed at the gates, and they snapped to attention when Logan approached.

“Name and business?” One asked.

“Logan Dumorti, my friend is… he said, that if he died, to come to the prince of Faction One. He’s not… not dead yet, but he is gravely injured. If he dies…” Logan took a deep breath to compose himself. “Well, I don’t know if I could bare it.”

“Well, sir, we simply can’t let you into the palace on just-”

“He said to tell the prince his name was Amethyst.”

The name seemed to strike a chord in the guards and they exchanged a glance before the other spoke in a trembling voice.

“Amethyst? That’s him, for real?”

Logan nodded gravely. “Yes, that’s what he said. He’s very badly injured, please, please let us in.”

The guards nodded, pushing the gates open.

“Talyn, take them to Patton and Roman.” One guard said, and the other nodded, motioning for Logan to follow them.

Talyn led he and Virgil through the winding hallways of the palace, talking a mile a minute all the while.

Logan was just… just scared.

If Virgil died, he truly feared what he’d do.

Talyn stopped inside of a large room, equipped with hospital beds and technology.

“Dr. Ames, you have a patient.” Talyn called, their voice urgent.

Out of the back of the room came a woman, with deep purple eyes and pale skin, tutting as she gathered supplies.

“Set him on that bed there, would you, dear?”

Everything passed in a flash after Logan set Virgil onto one of the beds.

The doctor was bustling constantly, and something about her seemed so… familiar.

But before he knows it, Logan is sitting at at Virgil’s bedside, watching the pale, bruised face of his love as Patton and Roman sat opposite him.

Slowly but surely, Virgil heals.

The bruises on his face pale and disappear.

The unhealthy pallor of his face fades away.

The cuts and injuries scab and fade into scars.

He heals.

On the third day, he woke up.

When Virgil’s eyes opened, Logan promptly burst into tears.

“Logan?” Virgil asked, voice thick with concern and fatigue. “What wrong? What happened?”

Logan shook his head, wanting to reach a hand up to wipe away the tears but unwilling to let go of Virgil’s hand under any circumstances.

Virgil raised a gentle hand and laid it on his cheek softly.

“Hi.” He said quietly, a fond smile on his face. “We’re safe now. Both of us.”

Logan smiled tearfully, placing one of his hands over Virgil’s.

“Don’t say that like nothing happened.” He whispered. “I was scared. So, so scared.”

“I’m sorry, Lo.”

“No, no. I understand, i just…” Logan took in a shuddering breath. “I love you so much, Virgil. I don’t know that I could survive without you.”

And suddenly, Virgil is crying too, crying along with Logan.

They had a rough road to follow.

Healing takes… a _lot_ of work.

But they had each other, to support each other.

“I’ll be by your side… Forever and always.”

-

_Virgo felt as Logan brushed his thumb over the back of his hand, linked together as they walked underneath the open canopy of the stars._

_When Virgil looked over, Logan had his head tipped back, serene as he watched the sky._

_Virgil couldn’t help but wonder what he saw. Had the circumstances been different, he wouldn’t have asked._

_He’d be a mercenary on a mission to kill an innocent man._

_But fortunately, those were not the circumstances at hand._

_So Virgil leaned over, gently nudging Logan’s shoulder._

_“What do you see?” He asked, voice barely a whisper._

_Logan just smiled as he glanced over to Virgil._

_“A thousand stars, none quite as beautiful as you.”_

_-_


End file.
